


The Fragility of Stories

by ArcanaHeart



Series: Inktober 2019 [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Country Gods - Freeform, Day 8, Frail, Humans, Implied Memory Loss, In a way, Inktober 2019, Long Shot, One Shot, Story Teller (Country Gods), Switching personalities, Two Minds One Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:36:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcanaHeart/pseuds/ArcanaHeart
Summary: America had always told stories, wove them as it was easy as breathing. Captivating the hearts of the audience and making them react to the stories he told them. It was his duty, the nation later told himself, as he got tired and tired.Maybe he said it to keep himself going, or to Mother Earth who refused to believe his words. "It wasn't his duty," they had told Alfred. "Maybe not, but I must keep doing this, for my family."





	The Fragility of Stories

Alfred remembered a time where humans were everywhere. Remembered a time where there was loud noises along with loud, bright colors. There were never silence as long the humans were around and everywhere. It was grating yes, Alfred agreed with Mother Earth on that part, but at least it was familiar to him. He had grown up in wars and was accustomed to the loud noises and colors.

He was more so familiar with the color of _red. _Before America had naively thought the color of red only came in one shade, but they came in different shades. He loathed it, but loved it all the same. It was odd.

Odd like the humans.

The humans were irritating, stubborn, moronic, but also loved, and would fight what they believed in. Even if it was the on the more dark greyer side.

But now that the world was frozen over, the humans scattered across the frozen lands and oceans...The silence was discomforting.

The humans' chattering was non-existence, and the noises and colors were few in days of the years. They were more reserved than anything that Alfred remembered them being in his war days.

America sighed as yet another visitor left with his stories to spread to their villages.

Mother Earth scoffed in the back of his mind, uttering the phrase of, "Humans are frail, why bother with them?"

_That_ was true, to some degrees.

Why bother with them if they were going to switch out details, forget events, argue over if they were true or false, and argue over the accuracy of the stories Alfred gave them? 

But then, who would bring stories of happiness, sadness, drama, comedy and so on to all of the humans who were hell-bent on surviving this long winter?

"No one would tell these stories, except I, Terra," America hummed as he counted the feathers from the latest visitor that had plucked them fresh from a turkey. They would do nicely on his cloak, Alfred decided as he turned the feathers over between his thumb and forefinger.

Mother Earth sighed again, Alfred vaguely seeing the deity shake their head in front of their mind. "You give your memories so freely, yet you are not doing anything to save them from losing it."

Alfred shrugged, one shoulder bobbing up and down, his face becoming more somber as the minutes passed. He placed the turkey feathers down next to the stone rings he had received from a blind traveler that visited every once in a while and sighed. It was a weary but resigned sigh. A sigh that Mother Earth hated to hear from their nation side.

It always meant that their partner was in a mood where it would be hard to get him out of, so Mother Earth always dreaded it, since it took a while.

"Well, if it helps my family to remember everything when they were nations," Alfred tipped his head at the ground that was slowly becoming green, "then I don't mind giving away all of my memories away."

"...you should rest, you've been doing this nonstop for the last month."

America leaned back, resting his head on a particular soft blanket that he had received from....someone he knew had thick bushy brows, but couldn't remember their name.

He then let out a giant yawn and nodded. "I suppose I'll do that."

Mother Earth huffed as America finally receded back in the soulscape and them coming out to see the world again. They were starting to worry for the American as he had started to get extremely tired after so long. Then the deity frowned at how badly Alfred had been pushing himself, there was barely any remnants of himself. They were the last of what Alfred was clinging onto, but were also willing to sacrifice them to the humans and non-humans.

_Why were they always frail with memories and feelings?_

That would always be a question left unanswered.


End file.
